True Colors.

Photo by Omar Lopez on Unsplash

It all started a month ago when Carrie, my childhood bestie, insisted I join her on this random two-day trip to Punta Cana. Carrie was a flight attendant and always had the hookup on free flights across the world. We used to go on a new adventure at least once a month. But adulting and our hectic, post-grad lives constantly interrupted our monthly excursions. However, Carrie promised this trip was all-expense paid, and she convinced me how much I desperately needed a vacation after this new job promotion.

I adore my girl, Carrie, but our relationship definitely changed after high school. Immediately after graduation, I jetted off to California to study journalism at the University of Southern California, while she decided to stay local in Florida and study nursing but became a flight attendant instead. We forged our own paths, but being in different time zones made staying in contact extremely difficult. Our once joined-at-the-hip relationship began to feel like distant pen pals. The only way we got a chance to catch up was when we jet-setted to some island for spring and summer breaks, besides then it was radio silence between us. They don’t tell you that when you grow up, it’s hard to keep your childhood friendships afloat.

When I moved back to Miami for a television job opportunity, I thought I would get my girl Carrie back, but there were a couple of red-ish flags waving around. She picked up this awful lying habit, and like an addict with their coke, she couldn't shake it. I caught her lying about nearly everything, from what she ate for breakfast to what she had planned after work. I ended up shrugging it off because I figured she had a new man in her life that she wanted to keep on the down low. The lying transformed into manipulation, and boy was she a master of the craft. I’ve witnessed how she used her words to lure her victims, tie its puppet strings around their limps and make them do practically anything she asked. It never worked on me before, but it was this method that tricked me into going on the trip to Punta Cana. Despite the warning signs, I went against my better judgment.

My Memory of our Trip…

She arranged for us to stay in a five-star hotel suite, a luxury car service to drive us around, and several exclusive parties to attend all on the first night. Did my girl hit the lotto? Where could she have possibly gotten the money from to do all this? Unless she slung drugs on the side, I knew her flight attendant salary didn’t pay that well. I was suspicious but never asked. She would've lied anyways.

The second the driver pulled up, I felt uneasy, a bit queasy almost. It was an older gentleman, possibly late 50s, well-groomed with a salt ‘n pepper look. He never uttered a single word the entire time. His silent presence brought an eerie feeling. I figured he didn’t speak English and attempted to brush the feeling under the rug. I would catch him glancing at me through the rearview mirror, but he would quickly look away, pretending as if he was just adjusting it. I then sensed a sudden shift in Carrie’s demeanor, when I brought it to her attention. She immediately shut down my allegations and proceeded to call me “paranoid” or “irrational”. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but she was not the outspoken and bubbly girl I knew. She became very passive and mute around this man.

Once we arrived at our suite, we instinctively turned the music up and started pre-gaming. I needed to drown my paranoia with tequila. I was six shots in before I noticed the driver never left. He stood firm with his back leaned against our suite’s double doors as if he was keeping us from leaving. Before I knew it, I was immensely intoxicated and passed out before we could even make it to the club. I can only recall bits and pieces of the remainder of the evening. When I think back to that night, I’m not sure if what I experienced was a nightmare or reality.

I remember waking up, fully clothed in my bed. I saw Carrie and the driver whisper arguing in the doorway of my suite room. The driver was enraged, and Carrie appeared frightened, but I couldn’t hear a word they said over the blaring music. The more I laid there, the more I realized something was wrong. I felt paralyzed. I fought hard to get up, but the ceiling was spinning out of control and I couldn’t open my mouth to even let out a scream. The next thing I knew, the driver pushed Carrie out of the way and crawled into the bed next to my inebriated body.

The Next Morning…

The sunbeams piercing through the window and the smell of fresh pancakes and eggs woke me the next morning. My head was throbbing, but not enough a few aspirins couldn’t solve. It was like everything was normal. Only thing is, I have no recollection of what happened last night. Carrie was herself again and the driver was nowhere in sight. I attempted to question her about what took place. Was I hallucinating or did something happen?

She nearly choked on her pancakes and burst into laughter. Carrie was flabbergasted that I couldn't remember the adventures from the night before. According to her, we danced and club-hopped the night away. She even had a picture of us to prove it. She repeatedly told me that I was just too drunk to remember. But now I’m perplexed, because did I really make that entire situation up with the driver? I’ve been told that I have an active imagination, but it all felt too real to not be true, right?

Later That Night…

The pungent smell of vomit penetrates my nostrils and jolts me awake. I find myself slumped over a frigid toilet seat covered in what appears like yesterday’s dinner. My head instantly feels every cheap tequila shot, and the one dim light flickering above me makes my head pound. Every inch of my body is drenched in sweat, but it’s freezing in here. The room does pirouettes around me as I struggle to peel myself away from the filthy toilet and tacky floor. This might be more than Patrón running rampant in my veins.

I recall Carrie begging me to go to one of her friend’s hotel parties to end our trip with a BANG. All I wanted to do was spend the night in our pajamas, binging our fave rom-com movies and order pizza. But I once again, let her talk me into a “good time”.

After the first round of shots and a mixed drink or two, my memory begins to fail me and everything is a blur. Where is she anyway? I frantically scrabble around the floor for my purse or at least my phone, but nothing.

I kick off my heels and take another go at standing on my numb feet. I stagger and knock down everything in my way as I search for a doorknob. You would think Carrie would at least check on me because of the commotion, not to mention how long I’ve probably been in here. The doorknob is cold against my hand. I twist it and slowly push the heavy wood door, anticipating what might be on the other side of the wall.

To my surprise, it’s Carrie, completely naked, on a king-sized bed perfectly placed in the center of the room, riding the dick of a guy I don’t seem to recognize. They both exchange loud, cadenced moans as if they were the only ones in the room. Maybe they didn’t notice me; they do seem a little preoccupied. And all of a sudden, two large, masculine hands grip my waist and bring me close to his bare, clammy body.

My fight or flight immediately activates. Without hesitation, I go wild, kicking my legs and swinging my arms. But, the unfamiliar man just digs his hands and nails deeper into my hips. I look to Carrie and wail as loud as my vocal cords possibly can, “Help!” She turns to me, looks deep into my eyes with her eyes heavily glazed over but does not pause her activities on the bed, not for a second, and says, “Close your eyes and relax. It’ll be over in a second.” She looks away, her eyes slowly rolling to the back of her head and she proceeds to ride off into the sunset. The man underneath her does not look my way or say an audible word in between moans and groans. My jaw drops to the floor.

I’ve known Carrie for 10-plus years. I thought I could trust her with my entire life. I feel sick to my stomach thinking about all the times I let her unusual behavior slide. She’s changed, and I refused to accept it. Now I’m being punished for not trusting my gut and denying her true colors.

Warm tears stain my cheeks and the salty liquid drip onto my lips. The man pierces my hip with his claws and whispers in my ear, “You should listen to your friend. If you don’t relax, I got something that’ll help you.” He chuckles menacingly, and the warmth of his breath on the side of my face, instantly makes the follicles on the back of my neck stand up.

I prepare myself for what’s to come. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with the sour, musty stench that floods the room. I close my eyes and exhale forcefully. His hands caress the small of my back and he smacks his lips. I take this as a sign to release every ounce of energy I have left in my body against him, so I can escape. I flail my body toward him, causing him to lose his grip on me. He whimpers and stumbles to the ground as I hit him violently in all possible vulnerable areas. I hysterically cry out for help as I look around, searching for an exit until I feel a sharp spike in my neck and my body instantly goes limp. I collapse to the ground in what feels like slow motion. I can feel his hands on me dragging my flaccid body. The once-audible sounds in the room faded away. The lights in my eyes dimmed until it was nothing but darkness.

A Month After My “Trip from Hell”…

Someway, somehow, God saved me, and I made it out alive. After Carrie and her two guys were through with me, they tossed my lifeless body to the corner of the suite, as if I was trash. I thank God for the hotel staff who discovered me and took me straight to the hospital. Doctors confirmed my suspicions and informed me that I was drugged to the point where I will need intensive rehabilitation therapy to regain strength in my body.

As for Carrie, she’s dead to me. Not once has she reached out to me, and I would reject her calls even if she tried. I heard from a mutual friend of ours that Carrie doesn’t say much about our trip. She’s afraid the truth will come to light. I debated if I should go to the police with what I know, but my memory is shot. I can barely convince myself that what I know is really what happened. I doubt my allegations will be taken seriously. But one thing I do know for sure is that karma is like a double-edged sword, and everything she tried to do to me will come back to her 10 times worse.

It’s all still mystery to me why she switched up on me after our years of friendship. Was it jealousy? Envy? Either way, I’m heartbroken, yet slightly relieved. Her true colors were finally revealed; it was just devastating that I had to find out this way.

When someone shows you who they are, believe them.

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